Dave Darrin's Third Year at Annapolis eBook

“Well, you don’t need to bump anything,”
replied Dan quietly. “Hepson wants you
on the gridiron the worst way, but he has told me that
he won’t even allow you to get into togs until
Pills has certified that you’re fit to play.”

“It’s tough,” sighed Dave, then
quietly began his studies.

It is a rare proceeding to send a midshipman to Coventry;
a step that is never taken save for the gravest reasons.
Dan, having fought, did not feel it necessary to bring
Jetson’s case before a class meeting, and Jetson
escaped Coventry. He was not cut, yet he soon
discovered that the average classmate paid no more
heed to him than appeared to be necessary for courtesy’s
sake.

After another week “Pills” consented to
Dave Darrin’s going out for regular gridiron
practice. Dave needed the work badly, for the
Navy team was now on the eve of the first game of
the season.

Jetson, with no hope now of making the eleven this
year, avoided the field for a few days.

The first game of the season took place on a Saturday
afternoon. The opponent was Hanniston College.
Ordinarily, in the past, Hanniston had been an easy
enough opponent, though there had been years in which
Hanniston had carried the score away from the field.

“How many of the regular team do you want to
throw into the game against Hanniston, Mr. Hepson?”
inquired Lieutenant-Commander Havens the night before
the game.

“Every one of them, sir,” Hepson answered
the head coach. “Until we get into a real
game, we can’t be sure that we’ve the strongest
eleven. To-morrow’s game will show us if
we have made any mistakes in our selections.”

Even though Hanniston was considered one of the lesser
opponents, every man in the brigade speculated with
great interest, that night, on the probable outcome
of the morrow.

“Darrin will have a good chance to prove himself,
a dub to-morrow,” thought Midshipman Jetson
darkly. “I hate to wish against the Navy,
but I’ll cheer if Darrin, individually, ties
himself up in foozle knots!”

CHAPTER X

THE GRIDIRON START

On the day of the game the midshipmen talked eagerly,
and mostly of football, through dinner in the great
messhall of the brigade.

“Did any one see the Hanniston infants arrive?”
demanded Page.

“Infants, eh!” called Joyce from the next
table. “That shows you didn’t see
the visiting eleven.”

“Why? Are they of fair size?” asked
Farley.

“It took two ’buses to bring the regular
eleven, besides the subs and all the howlers,”
retorted Joyce. “And the regular eleven,
I am reliably informed, tip the scales at four tons.”

“Oh, come, now, Joyce, shave off a ton or two,”
protested Farley.

“I won’t take off more than fifty pounds,
sir,” retorted Joyce with mock stubbornness.
“Say! The Hanniston fellows are enormous.”